Two Worlds, One Family
by ComeJosephine
Summary: Cal finds Rose on the Carpathia and they move to Philadelphia, while Jack becomes a famous New York artist intent on finding out the truth about Rose. Rated T for mild language and strong sexual themes.
1. Chapter 1: Unseeing, Unbelieving

_Jack's dead. Jack's dead. Jack's dead._

It was like some horrible mantra that wouldn't leave Rose's head, no matter how hard she tried to push it away. She was still shivering slightly after being piled under the first-class ship blankets for a little under half an hour. She didn't feel like moving. She didn't feel live living.

_Jack's dead. Jack's dead. Jack's dead._

_Shut up_, she prayed silently, hoping her heart would just listen to her head for once. First she thought she'd fallen for Cal… then she truly fell for Jack… now this. Would she ever learn?

The eerie green light cast from yet another of Fifth Officer Lowe's flares hit her square in the eyes. This time she opened them. The sun was just beginning to rise, turning the sky a beautiful pink and gold, as if in apology for all the _Titanic_'s victims had just witnessed. Rose hated the sky for that.

"Boat ahoy!" came the faint cry once more, as it had routinely throughout the last ten minutes or so. People vainly calling for help, but no one would hear them. They were all going to die.

Rose pulled the blanket up to her nose and closed her eyes again. She didn't deserve to live, even if she had promised Jack. Where was he now? She shuddered as she thought of his water grave.

_Stop_, she told herself firmly, but it did no good. Tears leaked slowly out from beneath her eyes as she thought of Jack, her promise to him, all he had done for her. He had freed her from her seemingly unbreakable bonds. There had been nothing more she had wanted, except him.

And suddenly, a large, looming shadow passed over her face. Curious and suddenly alert, she opened her eyes again. The creaking and small splashes of a ship, a ship larger than the wooden craft she was in, could be heard. Voices more numerous than any of the people in her own boat were murmuring softly. Rose struggled to sit up.

"Careful," Lowe said, noticing her for nearly the first time since she'd been taken aboard. He helped her up, and she nearly went down again as her still-cold legs trembled beneath her weight. "Help this lady up!" he called above.

Rose looked up. Strange men in strange uniforms were standing by a ladder, reaching their arms down to her. They looked like funny angels. Lowe helped her step up onto the ladder, climb a few steps. And then the angel-men grabbed her arms and helped hoist her aboard. She crumbled as soon as she felt firm wood beneath her feet again, only to be caught by a kindly stewardess.

"It's all right, miss," the woman murmured soothingly, helping Rose regain her balance. Rose gazed at her, almost unseeing. "Where am I?" she mumbled.

"You're on the _Carpathia_, miss," said the stewardess. "Come, let's get you down to the deck where the other third-class are waiting." Rose didn't argue as she felt a hot drink being pressed into her hand by Officer Lowe. She followed a large mob of shabbily-dressed people being led onto the poop deck of this strange ship, miniscule in comparison to the sunken liner they had boarded only days earlier.

Rose was placed on a bench, blankets wrapped around her head and body, so thickly she felt like a mummy. People spoke in all languages around her, to other survivors, to stewards, to anyone who might know something about a loved one. Rose felt detached from it all. _This is not my life._

Suddenly, as she listened to the many conversations and strange languages that floated like lazy bumblebees around her head, a snippet of conversation stood out, making her blood run cold. "I don't think you'll find any people of yours here, sir. They're all steerage."

Was it Cal?

_Of course it's not Cal_, she scolded herself. Cal would think she'd died, along with Jack. Cal wouldn't be looking for her. Cal couldn't be looking for her.

"Excuse me?" came a voice near her left ear. She began to tremble again. It was Cal. No other man's voice could make her feel that scared.

"Have you seen a young woman, about seventeen?" the voice continued. "Long, curly red hair, possibly with a man about her age?"

Rose pulled the blanket farther over her face, praying Cal wouldn't notice how smooth and immaculate her hands were. No third-class woman had hands like those. Maybe he'd think she didn't even speak English, and he'd leave her alone.

No such luck.

"Are you even listening to me?" Cal snapped, and to Rose's horror she felt the blanket jerked back from her face. She stared up into the shocked, livid face of none other than Caledon Hockley.


	2. Chapter 2: White Haze

The whole room was a white haze to Jack. He acknowledged that there were a large number of people in the room, and that some of them seemed to take special interest in him, and that was about it. His mind was so numb, his body still so cold, he couldn't think about much of anything. But one thing he could think of was Rose.

Where was she, anyway? The last he remembered, she'd just promised him… well, promised him something. He knew what it was, but he couldn't find the words to think about it. He knew he'd remember if he wasn't so damn cold!

Survival. That was it. The word hit him instantly, flooded his mind. Survival. She's promised him that she'd survive. But had she?

His mind and memory had been increasing steadily as the coldness numbed, but everything was still a haze to him. A white haze.

"He's responding, but not much of what he says makes sense," came a voice from over his thin mattress, laid haphazardly in the corner of… somewhere. Jack had no idea where he was, come to think of it. The only thing he knew about his surroundings was that they were warm, they were fairly comfortable, and a lot of people seemed to be checking up on him regularly. Painfully (and because he had nothing else to do), Jack lay on his ragged mattress and tried to piece together the last six or seven hours.

The last thing he remembered was talking to Rose, on that frozen plank in the middle of the Atlantic…. No, he had memories after that. Rose's voice whispering words he had been too sleepy to make out, and then her hand slipped from his. He felt himself being pulled down into the water… but then he'd awoken. And he swam to the top. Yes, that was it. Only when he reached the plank, Rose was gone.

A whistle… no doubt a ship's officer, searching for survivors. No regular passenger would have had a spare whistle. Yes, he remembered the shrill blast of a whistle, and then… his mind skips to being pulled aboard a small white boat. A lifeboat. But how had the lifeboat known to pick him up?

Jack would have banged his fist against something if he'd had any strength. He had taken to banging on things when he was frustrated. But all he could do now was wait, and hope that something of importance would come back to him.

A/N: Sorry this one's so short – I've got loads more stored on my computer, but I couldn't think of anything more to say about Jack at this point than what I've already said! Keep reading and leaving reviews, and I'll get Chapter 3 up really soon, maybe even later today!


	3. Chapter 3: Just Like It

A/N: Trust me, if you hated Cal before, you're gonna loathe him now.

"Sweetpea, what are you doing here? You must be freezing! Why on earth are you here?" Cal's tone was oozing sincerity, but Rose could see his eyes were blazing with anger. That made her scared. Cal was a literal monster when he was angry.

Rose looked at the ground, not answering him. She didn't want to see him. She wished he were dead. How could he have survived when Jack had not? Cal, who didn't love her, only wanted her as a trophy wife, a possession? How could he possibly think that she loved him?

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you ignorant slut!" Cal spat suddenly, grabbing Rose's arms so tightly she was sure they'd leave fingerprint-shaped bruises. There was no sincerity in his voice anymore, only anger, through and through. Rose gazed at him coolly, though she was trembling inside.

"Leave me alone, Cal," she said quietly, but Cal only tightened his grip. Rose whimpered. "And where's that gutter rat, that Dawson?" Cal asked, obviously unaware of any possibility of Jack's death. But the words hit Rose full in the face like a slap. She began to tremble violently, and tears welled up in her eyes, although she resignedly held them in. Slowly, smug comprehension dawned on Cal's face.

"He's better off dead, sweetpea. Trust me," he said finally, the fake sincerity back in his voice. "He was no good for you. You deserve better." Rose was too stunned and hurt to answer back, and Cal took this as defeat. He took her by the arm and led her up the narrow flight of stairs to where the other first-class survivors mixed and talked quietly in elite groups. Molly Brown and Ruth, Rose's mother, were grouped off with the Countess of Rothes, Madeleine Astor, and the Duff Gordons by the entrance to one of the dining saloons. Ruth, especially, looked extremely disheveled, her hair emerging from her fur cap and her face pale and drawn.

"I've found her, Ruth," Cal's voice boomed across the deck, and it was not only their party who looked up in surprise. Ruth gave a glad cry and rushed toward her daughter, clasping Rose's head to her breast gently.

"Rose… I thought I'd lost you…" Ruth whispered over and over, while Molly Brown patted the woman on the back. But Rose drew away, her eyes harsh and cold. This was the woman who, along with her fiancé, had made her life hell. And now that Jack was gone, she didn't think she'd be lucky enough to escape her twice.

"She was on the steerage deck, evidently waiting for Dawson," Cal was saying in too-loud whispers to the Duff Gordons. "He died, though. Well, he really had no chance, poor third-class chap that he was!" Cal laughed, and Rose turned on him furiously.

"How dare you," she said bitingly, and Cal was not the only one that looked surprised. "How dare you mock them when every God damn one of them is ten times the man you are, you bastard." Ruth began to interject, but Cal held up a hand, stopping her. "I'll deal with her, Ruth." He motioned away the little group, and they dispersed, crossing to the other side of the deck and glancing over at Cal and Rose between steps.

"Let me make this clear," Cal said in a low voice once everyone was out of earshot. "You are still my fiancée, and you will still honor me the way a wife is required to honor a husband. We are getting married at the same time we had planned regardless of what you want to do. Dawson's dead. You have no other options. Is this in any way unclear?"

Rose pressed her lips together firmly, but shook her head. She knew she would not win with her crowd, not anymore than Jack could have. Further proof they should have been together.

The _Carpathia_ docked at Pier 54 on the evening of April 18, 1912. Rose and Cal were some of the first people to leave the ship, and the magnesium bulbs of the newspaper photographers nearly blinded her as reporters directed thousands of questions at her from every angle.

Cal steered her through the mob with a firm hand, reminiscent of the bruises he'd given her that first morning aboard the rescue ship. He, Rose, and Ruth were directed to the train station, where a private train provided by the Hockley Steel Co. waited for them. Rain was falling as the group boarded the train. Rose tilted her face up to the sky. It was like the sky was breaking, like her heart had been broken. Just like it.


	4. Chapter 4: That Crazy Artist

MAY, 1912

"He's crazy."

"It's that crazy artist again."

"Does he ever leave the park?"

Jack ignored them He was used to the whispers by now, the murmurs, the snobby Edwardians behind their top hats and tight corsets. He was over them all. Nothing really mattered anymore. He couldn't find Rose – what was the point of living, really?

Slowly Jack's memory had come back to him while aboard the _Carpathia_. By the time the ship docked, he had full use of both his brain and his limbs, although he was still the last off the ship – the ship's doctors insisted. So, slowly making his way down the slippery gangplank in the chilly spring evening rain, he was glad to see that the reporters with their bulky cameras and obnoxious questions had moved on to the upper class with their questions. Fine by him.

He had managed to slip away from Pier 54, away from any memories he had left of the _Titanic_, and found a small, very run-down apartment atop the butcher's shop in New York. Cockroaches had made this flat their permanent home, apparently, but Jack didn't mind. He's managed to secure work at the butcher's until he could pay for a way back home to Chippewa Falls. He was sick of it all. He didn't care.

This explained why Saturday, his off day, found himself sitting in the park as always, in his non-work clothes – the clothes off the _Titanic_. Jack hadn't had the heart to throw out his last tangible memory of Rose, now that her drawing was at the bottom of the Atlantic. So he kept them, and drew portraits in them, not caring who whispered about him or when.

Every so often, though, while he was sketching a particularly challenging jaw line or making soft shadows with the charcoal excess on his fingertips – every so often his thoughts would wander, and they would always wander right to Rose. What if she had made it off the ship alive? Where was she now? Had Cal survived? Was she married to him now?

Eventually, Jack became aware of a presence next to him on the grimy bench in the middle of Central Park. He looked furtively to his right, trying not to let the stranger see him. It was a young man, maybe about twenty, who was studying Jack's hand and paper intently. Jack was sketching an old woman across the path, who was reading a novel. Jack shifted slightly.

"Pardon me," the man said eventually. "I've seen you drawing here quite often. Is this what you do for a living?" Jack looked at him evenly before resuming the shading of the tree's shadow across the woman's face. He hardly ever talked now. He had nothing to say.

"I'm looking for a new artist for an exhibit at the downtown art museum next week," the man continued, fishing in his breast pocket until he produced a thick card with curly gold writing on it. _Alan Fielding, Art Dealer._

"Really? And are you considering me, or something?" Jack said, not quite believing this strange man and the words coming out of his mouth. It wouldn't have been the first time that someone had tried pulling his leg. But Alan's face was the epitome of seriousness.

"Of course, there'd be money involved," said Alan Fielding hastily. "We'd surely pay you. I really do think you've got the talent to make it big, Mr…"

"Dawson. Jack Dawson," Jack said, finally putting down his pencil and shaking the man's hand, noticing with embarrassment that the handshake left small charcoal smudges wherever he touched skin.

"Well, Mr. Dawson, what do you say?" said Mr. Fielding, subtly wiping the smudges from his hand. Jack hesitated for a moment – only a moment.

"Well, sure," he said, still slightly dumbfounded. "I mean, I'd like to, but I have another job I'm kind of stuck with… they're giving me board, you see…"

"Not to worry," said Alan crisply. "We'd provide you your own little house near the art gallery." He named off the sum that they'd start paying him for each exhibit, and as Jack listened, his eyes grew round.

"I'll be in contact, then?" Alan concluded, and Jack nodded, hastily scribbling down the address of the butcher's shop. "Of course. And thank you." Mr. Fielding tipped his hat at jack and sauntered off. Jack continued to sit there, looking stunned. The old woman had long since wandered off, her book finished, but Jack didn't even care.

Was his life finally going to turn around? Was he finally heading off in a new direction? He nearly smiled, then stopped. He didn't think his life would be turned around until he found out the truth about Rose.

"Mr. Fielding!" Jack yelled, running to catch up with the art dealer. He turned around, surprised.

"Mr. Fielding, I know this sounds stupid, but is there any chance I could take up a different art post in Philadelphia?"

A/N: I know, this was kind of boring, but we had to establish Jack's whereabouts. It's only going to get better from here!


	5. Chapter 5: Ragtime Airs

One-hundred-and-eighty degrees of frothy, frilly lace and long netted veils and heavy blue stones, glaring at Rose from all angles behind twinkling candelabras that softly screamed "You're marrying Cal!!" It was almost unbearable. No, it _was_ unbearable.

"This is the one," she heard Cal say smugly from across the room. He was sitting on an armchair, studying her almost lazily, a glass of red wine in one hand and a half-burned cigarette in the other. Rose looked at him through the mirror, loathing how his brown hair was perfectly slicked back, how his lips were constantly curved up in a sneer, how his eyes glinted with pride whenever he laid eyes on her.

"It's nice," Rose said reservedly, her fingers lightly brushing against the blue stone wrapped around her pale throat. The Heart of the Ocean. And it only made Rose think of Jack, which made her throat close up in painful tears.

The dress itself was over the top – a ten-foot-long train made of crumpled silk and lace, a sheer silk and ace bodice, and a veil that extended almost as long as the train. But Cal wanted the most over-the-top wedding in Philadelphia, and he would get it, no matter the cost. Add that priceless bribe and Rose looked stunning.

If only she had wanted to look stunning.

"Yes, this will be your dress, sweetpea," Cal said, nodding firmly. He set his wine and smoke down and crossed over behind her, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "It's like a dream come true, isn't it, Rose?" She made a noise of agreement. Cal kissed her gently on the cheek, then again, and finally left the room.

As soon as he had left, Rose nearly tore the dress off, flinging it onto the ground, closely followed by the Heart of the Ocean. It wasn't her. None of this life was. She stood, chilly and barefoot, in her slip, surrounded by mirror images of herself, images that were not her own. She had a sudden urge to crack every mirror in the room.

She looked down at her wrists, and was almost surprised to see that they didn't have chains on them. It was only the next step forward, to be bound hand and foot and attached permanently to Cal.

Was there really any use in living?

"Sweetpea, are you nearly finished?" came the sickly sweet call through the closed door. "I'm coming, darling," she called back, nearly gagging as the words passed her lips. She slowly slipped on her own dress, a white-and-gold striped walking dress, and exited the bridal boutique with Cal's arm tightly entwined with hers.

The next afternoon, thankfully, was one that Cal was scheduled to spend with his father at the steel company, and Rose had most of the day to herself, except lunch with Molly Brown, whom she had continued to keep in touch with even after _Titanic_. So the morning found Rose wandering in the downtown streets, aimlessly lost but perfectly happy to be away from her mother and Cal.

And suddenly, happy music drifted to her from somewhere down the block. She felt like dancing as she followed its source, curious as to what could possibly be going on in the quiet little Pennsylvania streets.

She was finally led to a large stone building, from which cheery ragtime and waltz tunes drifted like scattered autumn leaves. To her delight, Rose read the handwritten sign by the front door:

Today Only, May 14th

Amateur Art Exhibit

Paintings, Drawings, and Sculptures

Rose gleefully went inside the large marble front hall, the band playing ragtime all the way. Paying her 10¢ admission fee, Rose picked up a thin leaflet and walked inside. The exhibit was being hosted by one Alan Fielding – Rose had heard of him, about his renowned ability to scour out young obscure artists from nowhere. She studied the different artists, people she had never heard of: Jimmy Alderman, Harold Burton, Jack Dawson, Gregory Hatfield….

No. That was a mistake.

But there it was again. It must be the truth.

It couldn't be.

Jack Dawson?


	6. Chapter 6: Snockey's

**A/N: Yikes! Where does time go? It's been days since I updated this lovely story! But I am working on a new Titanic fan fiction that will go up as soon as this one is finished. Can't wait, can you? Tee-hee. Anyway, onward!**

The marble floors of the Philadelphia Art Institute were sending cold shivers up through Jack's new shoes. He stood with his back against a pillar, his collar choking his throat uncomfortably and his whole body being sent through cold shock waves.

_Being rich is no fun_, Jack thought, and nearly laughed at loud as he thought of all the times he'd been in Paris, sleeping under a bridge and hoping beyond hope that he'd become rich someday. And here he was, with a fat paycheck recently put away in the bank, and living his dream. So why wasn't he happy?

Well. That was a rhetorical question.

A week in Philadelphia and no sign of Rose, not even a hint of Cal – which was surprising, because you'd think that Cal would have made the wedding the biggest thing that Philadelphia had ever seen. Was this a sign that Cal hadn't made it? Or Rose?  
_Shut up_, he told himself angrily. _You're gonna make it worse_. So he plastered on a fake smile, subtly got his finger under his collar to loosen it, and began to walk around the exhibit, admiring the public admire his work.

"This one is marvelous!" he hard an old woman say, grasping her husband's arm and pointing to one of Jack's best drawings, a little girl taking a nap on a riverbank. It had been drawn only yesterday – it had reminded Jack of his afternoons in Paris. But now all his Parisian drawings were at the bottom of the Atlantic.

Suddenly, something caught Jack's eye. He turned. A woman was standing with her back to him, her hands clasped so tightly behind her that her knuckles were visibly white, even from this distance. But maybe the most pronounced of all was the long, curly red hair piled on her head in a knot.

He knew that hair.

But that was impossible. He'd been searching every street corner for a week, all in vain, and she just happens to show up at his art exhibit? Absurd. It just didn't happen like that. That only happened in books.

And yet…

Taking the deepest breath he'd ever drawn in his life, Jack slowly crossed the marble tiles. _Click, click, click_. The hushed voices of the approving art viewers fogged his brain, making thinking about this utterly impossible. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and tapped her shoulder. She turned.

He found himself gazing down into eyes he knew much too well, lips he had pressed his own to. They were trembling – her face was even whiter than normal. Her hands slowly went up to her mouth, those beautiful eyes filling with tears.

"J-Ja-" she stuttered, but no complete sentence came out of her mouth. He smiled gently.

"Hello Rose."

"Jack," she whispered, reaching out a hand slowly and touching his face, trying to make sure he was really there. And then they raced to embrace each other, her tears wetting the stiff collar of his shirt. It was the best feeling in the world.

"Oh, Jack, I was sure you were dead," Rose sobbed, drawing back and pressing her palms to his face. A smile hovered on her trembling lips. "I was sure…"

"Well, I'm not now," he grinned, and she laughed. "Rose, can we go somewhere? Alone?"

She glanced around her. No one was around, but someone might wander in to admire the drawings any minute, and this would be an awkward situation for them to be caught in. "Don't you need to stay?" she asked.

"Nah," he chuckled. "C'mon." Taking her hand, they left through a back door that read "For Employees Only."

"Are you an employee?" Rose asked as they hurried out of the back alley behind the institute and onto the sunny Philadelphia sidewalk.

"Nope," he laughed. "Now c'mon. Let's go to the pond."

They reached the pond and sat on a bench by the water's edge, finding a lot of things to talk about and catch up on. Then Rose became quiet.

"What is it?" Jack asked, concerned.

"Well – you know that Cal's alive," she said slowly. Jack's smile disappeared. "Yeah, I figured. That bastard's a coward." Rose glanced at him sideways but giggled. "Well, he – the wedding –" But Jack already knew.

"What are you gonna do, Rose?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something, though. I can't marry him, now that you're here." She looked up at him serenely, and he felt a surge of warmth rush through him. What did I do to deserve her?

Suddenly Rose checked her watch and gasped. "Oh my goodness, I'm late!" Jack frowned.

"What on earth for?"

"I'm supposed to be having lunch with Molly, at Snockey's." Jack laughed. "Molly Brown? Are you serious?" Rose nodded, and then grinned.

"Why don't you come? She'd love to see you again." Jack nodded, and they walked out of the little park and onto the bustling streets of Philadelphia.

And then Rose stopped.

Getting out of a gleaming car, right in front of the oyster and crab place where Rose and Jack would be eating, was Cal.


	7. Chapter 7: Midnight

Rose trembled, clutching Jack's hand like she had in the icy Atlantic water. "Jack…" she mumbled, "Jack… don't let him see it…" Her whole body shook like a leaf. If Cal saw them together, he'd probably kill Jack, in all seriousness. And beat her until she might as well be dead, too.

"Stay still, Rose, he'll leave soon," Jack said, and then swore under his breath as Cal entered the very restaurant where Molly Brown was waiting for Rose. Rose bit her lip. "I don't want to disappoint her, but we have to go," Rose said. Jack nodded, and the two slipped away from the sidewalk.

They sat on the bank by the pond, tossing blades of grass into the water and watching the ducks eat them hungrily. "So, what are we gonna do, Rose?" Jack finally asked, knowing it was inevitable. Rose sighed.

"I just don't know, Jack." She looked up at him. "Now that I've found you again… I don't want to go back to him. But I can't just run off."

"Why?" Jack asked, and Rose thought about it for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said truthfully. "I just feel like I'd owe my mother and Cal some explanation. I'd want them to know where I was." Jack was silent. Rose looked up at him.

"Then… we'd better explain," he said finally. Rose gaped at him. "You know he'd find out anyway," Jack continued, "and maybe he'll feel a little better – just a little – if you told him, face to face."

"So… that's what we'll do?" she asked, and he nodded. "And, whatever he says, I'll come for you at midnight." Rose nodded, and they stood up, brushing the dirt and grass off their clothes.

"I'll see you at midnight, then," she said softly, and he looked at her for a long time before taking her up in his arms and kissing her gently.

That night, Rose was the most nervous she'd ever felt before in her entire life. Cal had arrived back at their house precisely on time, and they'd gone out to dinner before returning home. Now Rose sat in the parlor uncomfortably, having changed into a loose gray after-dinner silk while Cal read his newspaper and she tried to concentrate on embroidering a pillowcase.

"Cal, I need to talk to you," she finally said quietly, laying her needlework aside. Cal glanced up from his newspaper and gave his fiancée a sickly sweet smile. "You can talk to me about anything, sweetpea," he said, putting his paper on the table by him. "What do you need?"

"It's… well…" Rose fumbled around for the words that would make Cal hurt least. She glanced at him, and then she could suddenly see right through him. His smile was plastered on his face, but his eyes were glinting angrily.

"Go ahead, darling," he said, his voice oozing concern. "Whatever it is you have to say. And then I'll share something with you, too."

Rose clamped her mouth shut and began trembling again, just as she had that afternoon. He knew about Jack, and he knew that she could see right through him. In a flash, he was up from his chair and over her.

"You thought you could keep it from me that Jack Dawson was, in fact, alive?" he laughed softly, cruelly. "You thought you'd just tell me and that I'd be okay with it? Is that what you thought, you little whore?" He slapped her so hard across the face that she fell from the chair, slumping at his feet, gasping.

"Cal-" she choked, but he grabbed her arms and lifted her back onto her feet roughly. "This fucking wedding is going on, whether you like it or not! I'm marrying you and you don't have a choice!" he bellowed, pushing her roughly across the room. Her head hit the opposite wall with a solid thump, and her right temple scraped a picture frame so hard she gave a little scream.

"I'll have you know that Dawson's been taken care of," he spat as she sank to the floor, her whole body heaving in pain. "And I guarantee you'll never see him again!" Cal swiftly left the room, and Rose collapsed in sobs on the floor. Her head throbbed, and blood dripped onto the Oriental rug on the floor. Clutching her stomach, Rose gasped for breath.

And then it hit her. Jack. What had they done to Jack? She got up quickly from the floor and ran out of the parlor, out of the house, and into the bitter May evening. The stars twinkled cheerily overhead, but the air was bitingly cool.

She ran to the park, to the pond, but there was no one in sight, except a young couple strolling across the bridge. Frustration, grief, panic, and sickness overwhelmed her, and she bent double and vomited onto the grass.

Molly. Maybe Molly could help her. Trying to keep down another wave of nausea, Rose ran from the park, not stopping until she reached the large hotel where Molly Brown was staying while she waited for her son-in-law to come fetch her from Colorado. Rose ran into the lobby, and walked up to the desk.

"I need to speak to Margaret Tobin Brown. It's urgent," Rose pleaded. The clerk looked at her, bored to tears. "There are no visitors to any room at this time of night," he said in a monotone. "If you will please-"

"Let me go up, goddammit, or so help me…" Rose cried angrily, not sure how to finish her sentence with something terrible enough. Frightened now, the clerk quickly summoned a bellboy and told him to bring Mrs. Brown to the lobby.

Rose collapsed on one of the armchairs, exhausted. Mercifully, she soon heard the woman's familiar tones. "What in blazes is the meaning of waking a woman from her beauty sleep and bringing her down here?" said Molly indignantly, pulling on a fur coat over her nightgown. Rose got up from the chair and hurried to her.

"Why, Rose!" said Molly, surprise in her voice. "I thought after you didn't meet me for lunch, you and Cal had just up and left!"

"Molly, Jack's alive," Rose blurted, and Molly was shocked. "I met him at an art exhibit and I was going to bring him with me for lunch but Cal was there, so we went to the park instead, and I was going to call off the engagement to Cal tonight and meet Jack at my house at midnight-"

"Honey, slow down," said Molly calmly, leading Rose to a loveseat. Rose found she was sobbing now. "But Cal already knew and he beat me and said that Jack had been 'taken care of' and now I need to find him."

Molly's face hardened. "That bastard," she said icily, getting to her feet. "Well, come on now, there's no time to lose." She went outside, Rose following behind, and summoned a taxi. But as Rose stared into the blank night, her heart shattered, she felt that it was already too late. Much too late.

**A/N: I haaaaaaaated writing this chapter, it made me soooo sad. But I feel that it does add a little something, spice, if you will, to the story. Anyway, I'm sorry it took so long for the update, but I've got some time now. Comments on this chapter?**


	8. Chapter 8: Cellar Prison

The pain in his head was like a heartbeat – steady, unceasing. Unfortunately, that also meant it really, really hurt.

Jack stirred and tried to open his eyes, then winced at the harsh glare of light against them. The sun? His head throbbed even more painfully, and he closed his eyes against the light. No, not quite worth rousing himself. Eyes still shut, he tried to think back...

Rose departed from in front of the oyster restaurant, and Jack turned back to go have a drink at the bar while he waited for midnight, when he would go to Rose and Cal's house and collect her. They'd go to Chippewa Falls; she'd like that, and he wanted her to see his childhood home.

But he was only a block from the bar when... he winced again, not from pain, but from memory. Cal had turned up unexpectedly on the street corner and had seen him before Jack could hide. So Jack had crossed the street coolly.

Of course, Cal wouldn't make a scene in front of society, so he'd told Jack that the two would have a drink, and sort everything out. Jack stupidly believed him, and Cal managed to knock him into a side alley, away from the scrutinizing eyes of the crowd, and somehow slammed his face into the brick outer wall of the bar.

Jack blinked again and stirred, but found he couldn't move very much anyway – his prison wasn't very big. The light that had hit his eyes so painfully turned out to indeed be the sun – the early morning sun coming in through a small, grimy cellar window. Something that turned out to be dried blood was caked on his tan face, and he hastily wiped it off, and then got up shakily to peer out of the dirty window.

All he could see was an expansion of grass, a thin strip of blue sky, and half of a trunk of a tree. That could be... well, anywhere. Cursing under his breath, he looked around and saw a small and steep flight of stone steps leading to a cellar door. He tried the door; it was locked. He threw himself against it and instantly regretted it; it was still locked, and now the pain level was searing.

Frustrated, he threw himself to the ground again, monotonously beating his head against the smooth earth walls of his solitary chamber. As though this was a signal, he heard muffled voices above him – one he recognized. His whole body became alert, tense, waiting.

He heard a key scraping the lock of the door opposite him, and saw the weak sun come shining through the opening as the door was flung wide. Polished black shoes walked tauntingly down the steps, and Cal's smug face grinned as his eyes met Jack's.

"You look as sorry as you did on the _Titanic_, Jack," Cal laughed coldly, stopping before the steps. Jack got to his feet, his eyes not leaving Cal's. "When are you going to learn that you just can't win?"

"The same time you learn that I'm a survivor, I expect," Jack said evenly, slipping his hands into his pockets. Cal looked confused, then shrugged it off.

"No matter, Dawson. Now I'm going to make it very clear: you go back to New York or wherever it is you want to go, and don't think about Rose again, and I'll let you go without killing you. It's a pretty simple deal, and everyone wins. How about it?"

"How about no?" Jack spat back, and Cal's eyes glinted.

"Pity. To survive the greatest shipwreck the world's yet seen, and to be killed now, when you don't have to be." As if on cue, the door to the cellar flew open behind him, and footsteps began to resound on the steps.

**A/N: Greetings! I know you all have missed me. Truth is, I've been working on a new fan fiction that's almost complete – so I can just upload and be done with it! It's even better than this one. =) This one's almost done, come to think of it. I've already written the last two chapters. Sad, I know. Anyway – R&R!**


	9. Chapter 9: Winner Takes All

Molly had been unable to get a taxi – Rose rationally realized that it was nearly two in the morning – and had been gracious enough to let Rose spend the remainder of the night in her hotel room. Rose slept better than she'd slept in a long time, despite the gnawing worry that Jack could be seriously hurt or dead by now.

She woke as the sun rose, its rosy rays shining onto the couch where she had slept, a blanket pulled halfway across her lap. She stirred and instantly awoke; she felt grimy after spending the night in her gray silk dress. Unable to lie around for another second, she crossed to the window. Philadelphia was already bustling, even at this hour, as young boys swept the sidewalks in front of stores and business owners prepared for the day.

A noise behind Rose made her turn, and she saw that Molly was up as well, already dressed. "I knew you'd be up, darlin'," the plump woman smiled, patting Rose's cheek. "I promise that we'll turn this city topsy-turvy today. We'll find Jack, don't you worry."

A quick breakfast was found at a bakery outside the hotel, and then the two women set off up the street, Molly interrogating Rose thoroughly about everything. In great detail, Rose described her conversation with Cal the night before, and Molly frowned mightily when she saw the bruises that had indeed bloomed on Rose's arms during the night.

Finally, the story was done, and Molly suggested trying the art hall where Jack's work was on display. The gallery wasn't open, but the man who owned it lived in a small house adjacent, and was thankfully in when Rose rang the bell.

"No, I haven't seen him since yesterday, when he came to the exhibit," said the owner in a slightly nasal voice. "Is he missing? Do you need to put a notice out? My brother is the editor of the newspaper, you know." He looked eager for a story, but a glance at Molly proved this response was in the negative.

"I've always hated newspaper men," Molly said as they walked away from the art gallery. "Nosy busybodies, that's what they are." Rose had to smile in spite of herself, but said nothing and made sure the smile was kept secret. They walked on as the sun rose ever so slowly over the Philadelphia skyline.

Suddenly, Molly laid an arm before Rose, stopping her. Rose looked up at her, but Molly was staring at something across the street. A tall gentleman dressed in a casual suit and bowler hat was talking to a group of similarly-dressed men on a street corner before the bank, idly flicking ash from his cigar.

"Cal," breathed Rose. "If he sees me, we'll never find Jack. Oh, Molly!" Saying nothing, Molly motioned for Rose to get behind her. They watched as the men talked on and on, laughing slightly at intervals, and finally parted ways. Cal glanced around, and then walked in a direction none of the other men were heading.

"Should we follow him?" Rose whispered, but Molly was way ahead of her. Taking quiet but powerful strides, the two women kept Cal in sight while making sure he didn't know he was being followed. Five minutes passed, then ten, and still Cal led them on. Rose wondered if he was doing this on purpose because he knew he was being followed.

They reached the outskirts of the city, where nothing stood but crumbling and abandoned warehouses. Cal glanced around again, and Molly and Rose ducked quickly behind one of the other buildings. From his pocket, Cal drew something that glinted in the early sunshine; a small key. He bent over, fitted the key into something, pocketed it, and seemed to disappear into the ground.

"An underground cellar," declared Molly, snorting. "He's got some smarts in trickery, I'll give him that."

A plan was already forming in Rose's mind. "Molly, will you go for the authorities? If you go quickly, I can hold Cal off." Molly nodded and the words had barely left Rose's mouth when the elder woman set off the way they had come at a fast walk. Taking a deep breath, Rose emerged from her hiding place and crept toward the door of the underground cellar.

She strained to hear below, and her stomach leaped up in her throat when she heard Jack's voice. "The same time you'll learn that I'm a survivor, I expect," he said, speaking calmly. Rose silently cheered him, then listened as Cal responded.

"No matter, Dawson. Now I'm going to make it very clear: you go back to New York or wherever it is you want to go, and don't think about Rose again, and I'll let you go without killing you. It's a pretty simple deal, and everyone wins. How about it?"

Rose knew it was time to put her plan in action. Praying that she wouldn't reveal herself too soon, she slowly lifted the door of the cellar and put one foot on the top step, than the other. She had to wait for the right moment to make her presence known...

"...and to be killed now, when you don't have to be," she heard Cal say. Rose knew it was now or never. She grabbed the door behind her and banged it against the wall of the warehouse to warn them, then descended noisily, a smile on her face.

Cal and Jack both looked utterly shocked at seeing her there. "Rose!" Cal spat, moving toward her. She jerked her arm from his reaching hand coldly. "Don't touch me," she snarled, and ran toward Jack's open arms.

"Rose, how did you find me? Where did...?" Jack asked as he grabbed her tightly and held her close, feeling like he'd never let go. Then he realized he didn't want those questions answered, not just yet. All he wanted to do at the moment was hold Rose, and not stop.

"Get away from him, or he'll pay with his life," Cal said angrily, and Rose turned around to face him. To her horror, he drew a small pistol from his pocket and cocked it. The click seemed almost like a gunshot in itself.

Reluctantly, she withdrew from Jack's arms. "Don't listen to him, Rose," Jack warned, but she wasn't listening – to either. Slowly she walked over to Cal. He smirked. "Good, that's good, darling. Now you need to go on home..."

But the next part of the sentence was lost forever, because with a wild leap – and knowing she'd only get one chance – she threw herself into Cal. Caught off guard, he stumbled hard enough for her to wrench the pistol from his hand and swing it around to face him.

"Don't be stupid," Cal said, but made no sudden moves toward his fiancée. And blissfully, like a miracle, Rose suddenly heard voices outside. One belonged to a male; the other, to Molly Brown. She grinned, knowing the authorities had come, and she heard Jack laugh behind her as he recognized the voice too.

Footsteps tramped down the stone steps heavily, and not one but two police officers entered, wielding clubs. However, they lowered them and laughed when their eyes fell on Rose. "You can lower the gun now, miss," one chuckled as his partner walked over to Cal and wrenched his arms behind his back. Trembling with relief, Rose lowered her arms and turned around to smile at Jack.

"I demand to know the charges!" Cal was saying, struggling mightily as the two police officers walked him out of the cellar. "I'll have you know, I'm one of Philadelphia's most prominent citizens! Do you even know who I am?!"

His voice died away, and Jack grinned at Rose. "I have the feeling he won't be coming anywhere near you – or me – for a while," he said, and suddenly Rose's emotions caught up with her and she heaved a great sob, dropping the gun to the earthen floor. Jack ran to her and stroked her hair from her face, his own face anxious.

"It's all right, Rose," he said, and she smiled shakily. "I know... I know," she said quietly, and gave him another big hug. Footsteps on the stairs wielded Molly Brown, who gave a great booming laugh as she saw Jack again.

"Good to see you, Jack," she said, squeezing his hand and beaming. "And good to see Cal behind bars. Right where he belongs." She nodded her head smartly, and both Jack and Rose laughed.

They climbed the steps, blinking in the harsh light that now shone upon the world. As Jack walked down the sidewalk, Rose's hand tightly in his and Molly chattering away on his other side, he knew that this time, he really had won.

**A/N: Molly to the rescue! Thanks for all your support, readers. One more chapter to go – and then this baby's finished! How'd you like it? R&R!**


	10. Chapter 10: Epilogue

EPILOGUE

JUNE, 1914

It was a warm day, unusually warm for Wisconsin, even though it was the middle of summer. But the birds were singing their best tunes, the ones they seem to reserve for summery days. The sky ahead was a clear blue, dotted only with puffy white clouds that weren't at all threatening. The lakes sparkled and the grass waved green.

Perhaps the place where the sun shone brightest was on a little wooden house on a lakefront near Chippewa Falls. It belonged to the Dawsons – the only generation left – but they were the kindest and most hospitable of any of the Chippewa Falls neighbors: Jack, Rose, and their one-year-old twins, Tommy and Josephine.

As the sun rose, warm and cheerful, over the lake house, Jack Dawson sat on the porch railing – he rarely used the bench, he preferred railings – with a thick pad of creamy paper and a charcoal pencil in his hands. He'd been trying in vain to sketch a sailboat currently on the lake for the past half an hour, but the darn thing kept vanishing from sight.

The door opened behind him, bringing the smells of talcum powder and Rose's favorite perfume to his nose, and Rose herself joined her husband on the porch. She was dressed in a simple pale blue calico print, dotted with small white polka dots. Jack thought she looked absolutely beautiful; he grinned as she came to lean on the railing next to him.

"Tommy finally drifted off to sleep," she said conversationally, resting her chin on Jack's shoulder and studying his drawing. A few pensive moments passed, and then Jack asked her what she thought of it.

"You know what my favorite drawing of yours is, Mr. Dawson," Rose smiled, and Jack smiled too, but both smiles were sad and wistful. It had been over two years since the _Titanic_ had sunk, and it still hurt to talk about all the people they had lost along with her – Fabrizio and Helga, Tommy, Cora and her family, Thomas Andrews... More and more names came to Rose as she painfully plunged into the memories.

"Would you like me to draw you again?" Jack asked, and seeing the startled look in Rose's eyes, hastily added, "Not like it was. Never again like it was... but I've missed a sturdy subject." He looked over at her, and she nodded.

"Jack... will Tommy and Josephine ever know about it?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. Jack knew his wife didn't mean the drawing, but the ship on which it had occurred. His brow creased.

"Someday... maybe someday," he finally said, and took her hand gently in his own. They walked down to their little flower garden, where Rose was posed on an iron bench beneath an apple tree, already laden with fruit. Jack studied the scene for a moment, then picked up his pencil and began to draw...

_Jack and Rose later had another child, a girl they named Cora. When the Great War broke out, Jack volunteered to fly in it, and luckily came back virtually unscratched. They never told their children of their experience together on the _Titanic_, and it was not until Rose's death in 1985 that Jack gave their youngest, Cora, a box of mementos that she'd saved from that period in their life. Tommy, Josephine, and Cora each married and had children of their own, and when Jack died in 1990, he had eight grandchildren to carry on his legacy. One of them was born only a month before he died. She was named Rose. _


End file.
